The Things You Do
by Zelland
Summary: He finds his fondness for her rather disconcerting. Han/Leia fluff


**Disclaimer: Han Solo belongs to George Lucas, and most unfortunately not to me.**

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Sweetheart, you're insane.

I'm not saying that's a bad thing, because I have a feeling it's precisely this quirky intensity of yours that's kept me around so long. But to be honest, I've never hoped I was more wrong. Things get real dangerous real fast when you care too much. Just look at all the fixes I've gotten into because of Chewie – and he's a 7-foot tall Wookie who tends to divert trouble rather than attract it. Being so invested in you and Luke, it's just not good.

I wouldn't even be on this giant ice cube in the first place if it weren't for you two, and hanging around here is going to get me killed, I swear. Aside from the fact that we're a big ol' bull's eye for an Emperial attack, there are the everyday hazards that have me checking my horoscope daily for bad omens. Like that wall collapsing near the East storage room last week, remember that? I could have been killed. Admittedly I wasn't anywhere near the storage room at the time, but what if I had been? I'd have been crushed finer than star dust, and where would that leave Chewie? There ain't that many humans capable of flying the _Falcon, _and even fewer who can understand Shyriiwook.

See what I mean about caring too much?

But regardless, Princess, I think you're a head case. You're so stressed out all the time and you don't even eat. Or sleep, for that matter. You do a lot of things that aren't good for you.

I have a list, actually.

It's a mental list, mind you, but a list nonetheless.

I keep it so that when I see you doing something bad for yourself – something on the list – I can stop you.

First of all, you worry. A lot.

One of the only times you let me touch you is when you worry, and despite my best efforts, I find I relish in it. Being near you, I mean, not your worry.

Your skin is very soft.

I remember one time in particular, you were worried about Luke. You're always concerned when people are sent on missions, but when it's someone you know, you worry extra.

Well, obviously.

Luke was gone with Rogue Squadron, off doing what they do best – all but getting themselves killed. They were supposed to be back to Base, but they weren't, and it had been two days. The asteroid field that saves our butts from Imperial detection on a daily basis also makes it damn difficult to communicate out-of-system, and naturally we couldn't get in contact with them.

And everyone was worried, not just you and I. Because if we'd lost every single one of our fighter pilots, what then? We'd learn the _real _definition of screwed, that's what then. I camped out by the comm system, you paced the hanger.

It was around one hour in the morning when we in the command center finally decided to call it a night. I left the night watch with terse instructions to let me know the minute they called in, and stalked back to my ship.

I do a lot of stalking.

And you were there, leaning against the hull, and you were pale and you had these huge dark circles under your eyes and I suspected you hadn't slept in days. Or, _knew_ you hadn't slept in days. But you were out of your mind with worry and I was allowed to attempt to comfort you. So I gave you a hug and said, "Come on, we need some sleep. I told the guys in command to call me if they report in," and you nodded – which surprised me – and we walked up into the _Falcon _and I made us cups of kaffe.

I really don't know why you drink kaffe at night, or why I do, for that matter. It's one thing we have in common.

Chewie had gone to bed ages ago and I could hear him snoring. He's a bloody loud snorer. And you and I sat at that little table in the galley and sipped our drinks in silence, not because we didn't want to talk, but because we couldn't talk. We couldn't do anything until they were home safe.

We do a lot of not-talking, you and me.

You put your head down on the table and closed your eyes, and I sat watching you nod off and all of a sudden had the strangest feeling. Like I wanted to jump up and go find Rogue Squadron myself, and bring them back so that you would be happy again. Or, as happy as you ever get.

It was strange, and it scared me, because when have I ever gone out of my way for a woman? Well, _wanted _to go out of my way is how I should put it. Voluntarily gone out of my way.

Anyways, I gave myself a little shake and the movement startled you out of your doze. And you blinked at me and I smiled, and I did something I would have neverhave _dared_ to do had I been in my 

right mind. I put out my hand and said "Come on, Sweetheart," and you put your hand in mine without a second thought.

You have very small hands.

And we went into that crew member's cabin, the one that I took the bed out of and put a couch and holoprojector in. Lando used to tease me mercilessly about it. "Who ever heard of a couch on a spaceship?" he'd say. And I'd always reply, "Well buddy, I _live_ on my spaceship. I can have a couch on there if I want."

It's a nice couch, I like it. It's lumpy and scrunchy and scratchy and old and orange, and I like it. I kicked my boots off and laid down and said, "Come here," and you laid down next to me and I put my arm around your very, very small waist and we slept. And when I woke up you were gone, which I only expected, and we never said a word about it.

But you looked well rested the next day. Comparatively, of course.

I wish you wouldn't worry so much, because I can't always be there to make you sleep. Only very rarely, when I'm lucky.

You're so funny, Princess. You're so very brave all the time, running headfirst into situations without a second thought of your own safety.

Well, some might call it brave. Personally I call it idiotic.

You're a politician, and you're not afraid to meet new people or take on new challenges, and yet you're such a finicky eater.

It cracks me up.

That time I decided to eat dinner in the mess hall, only I decided to bring my own food because I honestly can't stand the stuff the Rebellion tries to feed you, remember that? You had actually shown up for Evening Mess that day, and I sat across from you at the table with Luke and the Rogue Squadron. You had wanted to eat with Rieekan, but he said he wouldn't be there long anyways, and pushed you towards that table.

Sometimes I think he and I are on the same mission when it comes to you. It's nice to have an ally.

And so you reluctantly sat down, and you had a tray of whatever the meal was in front of you, and it looked bland and grey and disgusting. So I offered you a bite of the stew I had made myself. You scrutinized it through carefully narrowed eyes and asked me what it was. I told you it was Corellian – well, sort of – that I had made it up myself.

That seemed to confirm your worst suspicions and you blatantly refused. But I kept bothering you, and after several mouthfuls of the lumpy, colourless paste on your plate, you agreed to try it.

But only _one _bite.

I grinned and held up the spoon so you could have a taste. You were so funny, staring at it like it might attack you, and I laughed. This made you mad, like it always does, and you said that if I was going to tease you, then I could just forget it.

So I sobered up, but couldn't resist asking you if you were afraid of spices.

You said no, just my cooking.

I told you it was delicious.

You replied that it was bright red (which was not normal for food), and looked very hot.

I agreed that indeed it was.

And you sat there staring at me for the longest time, and I rolled my eyes and said "Gods, Leia, just try it."

And so you did – the tiniest little nibble. Then you drew back, and I smiled and asked you if you liked it. You said it wasn't as bad as you had been expecting.

The ever mature members of the highly celebrated Rogue Squadron were flicking rolls at each other, and one had the misfortune of landing near you. You shot them a look that would have braver men quelling in their seats, and the pilots quickly sedated themselves.

You turned back to your food, and probably thought I didn't notice that tiny involuntary look of disgust cross your face. But I did. So I offered you my stew, and of course you refused. I said I was done anyways and that you might as well take it, because otherwise it would go to waste.

You looked up at me and asked me if I was sure. I said absolutely, and pushed the plastic bowl towards you.

I don't think I've ever seen you finish a meal.

I'll have to remember that recipe.

You really should take better care of yourself, Princess; we don't want you getting sick.

Honestly, though, what if you did get sick? What if you had to be confined to the med center? What if you got hurt?

You always wonder why I volunteer for every mission that you go on. The truth is it's because I don't trust you with your own life, and _somebody's _gotta be there to protect you. What would I do if I lost you?

Sorry, I mean "we," as in we the Rebellion. What would _we _do if _we _lost you.

I don't know why I said that. I meant the Rebellion. The Rebellion, the Rebellion, the Rebellion.

The Rebellion.

Anyways, you're the driving force that keeps this Rebellion running. I never thought a person so small could be so influential, but you definitely proved me wrong there.

The fact of the matter is, Sweetheart, you proved me wrong on a lot of the principles I used to fervently cling to.

Sometimes it makes me consider staying on with the Rebellion.

Well, you make me consider staying on.

That scares me.

Sometimes.

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**It might just be me, but I think Han's got a thing for Leia ;)  
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**Those kind enough to review recieve a bowl of stew cooked specially for them by the Captain himself.**


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